I presume my contorted affinity for this piece is because it is exactly how I'll be at 32 if I don't stop it.
Lawyers on the Left Bank
So this is me at thirty-two, the strange dream seemed to say:
the lawyers order coffee in a louche Left Bank cafe
and read their menus carefully, and sit extremely still
while all around them lips kiss, fistfights rage, and glasses spill.
What they are doing in this rowdy tavern is not clear.
It's obvious they are not prudes, for after all they're here.
But in this topsy-turvy room where tables serve as beds
and tarts are jumping out of cakes, what thoughts race through their heads?
Perhaps they harbor fantasies of trading in their suits
for clingy leather bodices and sleek stiletto boots;
perhaps they scan the revelry and contemplate a fate
where working hard is not the solemn foe of playing late;
or maybe they just tease the air with legions of small sighs
and burn holes in the carpet with averted bedroom eyes.
------------------Rachel Wetzsteon----------------------
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